


So Take My Hand (Take My Whole Life, Too)

by starkidpatronus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Humor, Implied Smut, Light Smut, M/M, Marriage Proposal, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, i guess?, idk you'll see, or like?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 01:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6449779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkidpatronus/pseuds/starkidpatronus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Seamus is freaking out and Dean is not helping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Take My Hand (Take My Whole Life, Too)

**Author's Note:**

> My, am I ever having a productive week--second fic in two days; new record for me!  
> Anyone who follows me on tumblr (thewriternotthemuse (shameless self-plug)) knows that, recently, I've been on a bit of a Deamus kick. And why shouldn't I be? They're perfect, honestly. Thus, this happened.  
> The title of this fic is taken from "Can't Help Falling In Love With You" by Elvis Presley, because every fandom needs a fic with a title stolen from the sweetest, sappiest love song of all time.  
> NOTE: This has not been beta'd or Brit-picked. All the mistakes are my own; feel free to call me out.

                Seamus Finnigan is _not_ freaking out. He’s only changed his tie three times, smoothed his hair with what feels like a _gallon_ of gel, and given himself a pep talk in the mirror (twice). But he is _not_ freaking out, okay?

                Except that…well, maybe he is, but just a little! Hey, you’d freak out, too, if you were proposing in an hour!

                That’s right. Tonight is _the_ night, when he finally asks Dean Thomas the question that _will_ change their lives forever, one way or another. Either Dean will say, “Yes!” and jump into Seamus’s arms and everything will be perfect or…

                Or he will say, “No,” that he thought maybe they could make this work but in truth, he just doesn’t love Seamus and he can’t marry him. And then Seamus will be left all alone again without Dean’s light to guide him, just like in seventh year, lost and hopeless and self-loathing and—

                He pinches his own arm, snapping himself out of that train of thought. Sure, the worst possibility may very well occur, but dwelling on it won’t change the outcome of tonight. And Seamus _is_ asking Dean _tonight_ ; he made that decision a _month_ ago when he made these reservations, and he is _not_ backing down now.

                All his friends—Lavender, Parvati, Neville, Ron, Hermione, Harry (and by extension, Ginny)—have told him to calm down, stop worrying, of _course_ Dean will say, “Yes.” And while Seamus knows that, logically, they’re right and Dean has given no signs that he’ll say, “No,” that hasn’t stopped the gnawing fear from creeping into the back of his mind over the past month.

                It comes up at the worst times, honestly, when he’s cuddling with Dean on the sofa while watching telly, when he’s eating whatever delicious meal Dean’s cooked for dinner, when he wakes up on a Saturday morning to see Dean smiling down at him, sleep softening his features. Suddenly, all the things they’ve always done together, all the things that used to be (and still are) Seamus’s _favorite_ things about being with Dean, are tainted. It’s like a filter’s been put in front of Seamus’s eyes, tinting his life with Dean a most distressing hue.

                It hasn’t helped that Dean seems to have become _more_ loving this past month. Seamus may be making it up in his head, of course, he realizes that. He could just be _noticing_ these things more, amplifying them because of how stressed he is. But at the same time, he would swear on his _life_ that Dean is placing more soft kisses on the back of Seamus’s neck at random times, that Dean is being more doting and attentive, that Dean is looking at him with this new _spark_ in his eye that just—Seamus doesn’t have the words to describe it, but it’s _different_. Ordinarily, the attention would be welcomed by Seamus, but now, it puts him on-edge, reminding him of all he could lose by going through with this.

                But tonight is not about that.

                No, tonight is not about fear. Tonight is about Dean, and Seamus, and the two of them, and when they became _them_ , and how easy and natural things are between them, and how Dean makes Seamus feel—warm and safe, strong and secure. He hopes he makes Dean feel something at least a _little_ similar, because he’s pretty sure that’s what love is all about at the end of the day—not sonnets or ballads or grand declarations, just the quiet knowledge that things will be okay when they’re together.         

                “Hey, love, you almost ready?” Dean’s voice from the living room jogs him out of his silent reverie.

                “Uh, yeah!” Seamus calls back, clearing his throat. “Just a minute!”

                “’Kay.”

                Seamus takes a deep breath, looking at his reflection in the mirror. “You can _do_ this,” he mutters to himself, trying not to feel pathetic.

                But the fear, the _fear_ , _Christ_ , this is _killing_ him! How is he supposed to get through a whole dinner like this? He can’t do this; he _can’t_ —This is impossible. He should just pack it all in, try for another night, when he’s feeling less nervous.

                Seamus takes the ring-box out of his pocket, where he’s been fingering it periodically for the past twenty minutes. Looking at the small black box, he makes a snap decision and charges into the living room, not giving himself a chance to change his mind.

                “Dean, I need to talk to you,” he says firmly, quickly shoving the box back in his pocket. He stands in front of Dean, who continues to sit on the couch.

                “Okay,” Dean says cautiously, taking in Seamus’s set jaw and determined stance. “Do you...want to sit down?”

                “Nope.” Seamus shakes his head resolutely. “No, thank you.”

                “All right…” Dean sits forward in his seat on the sofa. “What’s going on, love?”

                “Dean,” Seamus begins, palms sweating. Jesus, he’s gone over this speech a million times by himself, but this is so…fuck, this time, it’s _real_. “How long have we known each other?”

                “God, um…” Dean thinks back. “’Met first year of Hogwarts, so that would make it…ten years.” He sits back in the couch cushions, visibly stunned. “Wow.”

                “Yeah,” Seamus agrees breathlessly, letting the enormity of the statement hit him for a moment. “’Long time.”

                “It is.” Dean’s giving Seamus this soft smile that both lights a fire in his heart and causes the butterflies in his stomach to fly in formation.

                “And all those years…I’ve loved you. Sure, the _way_ I loved you started to…change around sixth year, but…I’ve always loved you in _some_ way. And I know I always will; I just _know_ that. You…make me better, Dean, you always have. And…I wanna’ keep being better for you, for the rest of our lives. So,” he says, now getting down on one knee, “Dean Thomas…”

                But he stops, because Dean is rubbing his jaw and _laughing_ , actually fucking _laughing_ , and out of the millions of ways Seamus imagined this going, Dean _laughing_ was not one of them. The laughter is infectious, though, like always, and before he knows it, Seamus is panting for breath, in absolute stiches. He gasps out, “Well, wait for me to bloody _ask_ first!” It’s obvious by now that Dean has figured out what’s going on here; it’d be nice if he could let Seamus _finish_.

                But Dean just _keeps laughing_ , and, okay, Seamus is getting a _little_ worried now, because what if this is his worst nightmare, the one he never even _considered_. Because _no way_ could Dean _ever_ be cruel enough to _laugh_ at him whilst rejecting him. Right?

                Dear God, this is anxiety-inducing, it’s maddening, it’s—irritating! Before he knows what he’s saying, the words are spilling from his lips: “Look, if you’re going to say, ‘no,’ you don’t have to be so bloody _gleeful_ about it!”

                Dean just keeps laughing, though, shaking his head, his hand held over his mouth. “Oh my God,” he finally gets out. “Oh my God, _Shay_.”

                “ _What?”_ Seamus snaps. “ _What_ , Dean? All right, I wrote this whole speech, I made reservations at the most expensive restaurant in Diagon Alley, I couldn’t even wait that long to ask you, and now you’re _laughing_ at me for all of it. So _what_ , Dean? What is so _fucking_ hilarious?”

                Dean, still laughing, wordlessly pulls a small black box out of his right pocket.

                Seamus stares at the box whilst Dean continues to chuckle. He blinks once, twice, then looks up at Dean, eyes seeking an explanation he already knows.

                “I was going to ask _you_ ,” Dean declares, _still_ laughing. “When you told me you made those reservations, I thought it’d be the perfect place to propose. ‘Guess I should have figured that’s what you’d be doing.” The laughter’s finally subsided as Dean gives him a sheepish smile.

                “Fucking ‘ell,” Seamus says, shaking his head. “What are we going to do about this one, Thomas?”

                “How about,” Dean starts, leaning forward and taking Seamus’s hands in his own, “we do it together?”

                Seamus nods, sniffling a little; he doesn’t know when he started tearing up. “Okay.”

                “All right. On three?” Dean checks. Seamus nods. “Okay. One, two,—”

                “Will you marry me?” they say in unison. First, they just look at each other for a beat, then collapse into _more_ giggles.

                “Amazing.” Dean shakes his head at the both of them. “We must be made for each other.”

                “Aye, true soulmates,” Seamus agrees. “Destined to try to outsmart each other for the rest of our lives.”

                Dean flashes him that beautiful, radiant smile, pulling him in by the back of his neck and snogging the life out of him. Seamus lets himself be drowned in kisses, getting lost in the push and pull of their lips. Then, something occurs to him.

                “Wait, wait, wait,” he says, pulling back and enjoying the sound their lips make upon disconnecting.

                “What?” Dean whines, pouting.

                “Are—are you saying, ‘yes?’”

                Dean grins again, shaking his head and huffing. “Depends,” he says, a playful look in his eyes. “Are you?”

                Now, it’s Seamus’s turn to start laughing, as he brackets Dean’s face in his hands, kissing the man soundly. He pulls back just a bit, his lips still on Dean’s when he murmurs, “Yeah, I think you’ll do.”

                “Back atcha’,” Dean replies, grinning.

                Seamus grins back, feeling totally at peace for the first time in a month. He takes a seat on Dean’s lap, straddling his boyfriend— _fiancé_ , actually. Dean smiles into the kiss, his arms coming up to dig into Seamus’s back and shoulders. When Seamus starts undoing Dean’s tie, though, Dean pulls back, protesting, “We have reservations.”

                “Eh,” Seamus says nonchalantly. He continues futzing with Dean’s tie, distracting him with a well-placed bite-and-suck combination on that one spot on his neck that always drives him _crazy_. The action earns him a moan, as well as Dean relaxing into the couch cushions. Seamus shrugs, finally tugging Dean’s tie all the way off. “They can wait.”

                After all, they officially have the rest of their lives to eat dinner together.

**Author's Note:**

> Tada! I hope you've enjoyed reading this; feel free to leave a comment! <3  
> 


End file.
